There was no vibration at all. It was as if the train was still parked at the station. The magnets flipped on and pulled the train unimpeded by friction. It had to speed up gradually lest the g-force suck the iPhone from everyone’s hands.
Lester couldn’t get out of Kyoto fast enough; even 350 miles per hour felt too slow. His failure as a grad student was outshined only by the fiasco of his work as a teacher of English, and the mistake of getting involved with one of his students.
&&&
Arriving in Kyoto, Lester took an Uber to meet his host family. They buzzed him in and in broken English told him the floor and apartment number. A man in an undershirt, boxer shorts and flip-flops greeted him; an ashy cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
“You Rester?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m Lester,” he said holding out his hand as the man shuffled away indicating for Lester to follow. The apartment was no larger than a dorm room. Every wall was stacked to the ceiling with household goods, clothes, toiletries and furniture. The kitchen was a hot plate, rice cooker and electric kettle near the window. One wall was a three level bunk bed.
“You on top. Toilet down hall,” the t-shirted man said.
A woman and obese man sat at a table in the middle of the room, barely noticing Lester. They took up all the floor space, save for one empty chair. They were eating dinner and playing games on their phones; both were smoking. Lester clung to his backpack, unsure of what to do.
“Hungry?” the man in the undershirt asked.
“Yes, yes I am. Thank you,” Lester gushed.
“This one free, but tomorrow you pay,” the cigarette still dangling from his mouth he spooned up some rice, sauce, meat and vegetables in a bowl and handed it to Lester. Lester looked for somewhere to sit. The the man pointed down. “Floor. You sit on floor. No problem.”
The next morning, his eyes burning from cigarette smoke, Lester headed off to the Go!Teach campus, located on the eighth floor of an office building with carpet smelling of dirty socks. He found a door with the Go!Teach logo, and once inside he was quickly ushered to a classroom already filled with students. Something was said in Japanese, which ended with, “Mister Rester,” and he was left with the students.
Their ages ranged from pensioners to teenagers, with varying levels of interest. All were polite, and some knew a few words of English, but most spoke only Japanese. Lester’s first lesson included the words “Hello,” “Excuse me,” and “Uber” but he struggled to give the words context. At the end of the first day, the students all bowed to him as they left, which Lester interpreted as a great success. He later learned that most Japanese would bow to a sofa if it got them out of the room.
His work and home life went on unchanged for several months, students ebbing and flowing out of the class; faces disappearing and replaced by others. Since he was never given any curriculum to follow, he kept making it up as he went. Nobody seemed to care or even check on his work. He was paid every Friday, and would treat himself by going to a Raman restaurant near the school.
With his face in a bowl of steaming noodles, a man approached him.
“Mister Rester?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“You very good teacher. I take your class. Good teacher.”
“Oh, well thank you. That’s nice to hear. I never really know how I’m doing.”
“How long you in Japan?”
“A few months.”
“How long you stay?”
“I’m not sure, I’m here on a leave of absence from graduate school. So I need to get back eventually.”
“Graduate school! So you smart! We lucky to have smart teacher!”
“Oh, it’s nothing really,” Lester almost started to blush.
“No, you smart! I can tell right away! What you study?”
“Literature of the American Enlightenment, specifically Benjamin Franklin’s erotic poems. Hardly any work has been done on them.”
His companion laughed, “I don’t know what you say Mister Rester, but you very smart!”
“I’m sorry, you’re English is so good, I assumed you could understand.” Lester paused for moment while the man smiled at him. “Where did you learn English?”
“From you!” the man laughed. “And American TV.”
“Of course.” Lester noted that his ramen bowl had been empty for some time. “Well, I had better go.”
“Mister Rester, let me buy you drink. Great tradition in Japan!”
Lester reflected on going home to his storage locker and three smoky companions.
“Sure. Sounds like fun,” Lester said, as he looped his computer bag over his shoulder and followed his companion out the door.
&&&
Lester woke in the backseat of a car. One side of his face hurt; it felt bruised and swollen. Sitting up, his head throbbed and he realized he was in a parking garage. He was alone in the car, and checking for his computer bag found all his belongings intact. He tentatively opened the door, waiting for something to happen. The garage was empty, the closing door echoed thunderously. His phone rang, and a FaceTime request was flashing. Lester answered and saw his t-shirt wearing roommate, his cigarette in place as always.
“Rester, you look like shit,” he laughed.
“What? What’s going on? Where am I?”
His roommate held his finger to his lips, “You be quiet, and listen. You at train station. You buy ticket, go to Shinagawa.”
“What? No! I’m going to the police!” Lester’s roommate hung up. Lester looked around, signs with primary colors and Japanese characters were everywhere, but he couldn’t read them. He started walking, but realized he didn’t know where to go, or where he was. He scrolled through his phone for his Japanese-to-English App, but it was gone and his download account was dead. All of his contacts had been deleted. All he had was the last call from his roommate. He figured there had to be a staircase or elevator somewhere, so started walking and found a stairwell. Up or down? He decided to head down but as soon as he took the first step, red-hot pain shot through his knee and he fell the remaining way down the stairs, landing in a wet spot of dirty water. His head hurt, his knee throbbed, and now his shoulder and back felt broken. Lester started sobbing, his snuffling breaths filling the vacant stairwell.
After a time, he reached for his phone and FaceTimed his roommate. It rang only twice.
“Rester, you look like shit,” he laughed again, this time even harder. “What happened to you? Train run you over?”
“What do you want from me?” Lester asked, still wiping his nose and laying in the puddle.
“Buy a ticket, go to Shinagawa. What, you retard or something? You supposed to be smart,” his roommate laughed again.
“You son of bitch!” Lester yelled, his face reddening, “That wasn’t my student. You set me up!”
“Buy a ticket, go to Shinagawa,” his roommate repeated.
“No! I won’t go! I’m going to find you and you’re going to pay for this!”
“Rester, you will go. You full with little bags of heroin. You swallow last night. But one has tiny bomb. I say so, it go off, you overdose. You go to Shinagawa.”
“No! That didn’t happen! I’d never …”
“What you remember? How you hurt head, hurt leg? We beat you, and you swallow. No problem. Now you go to Shinagawa, shit out bags, give to my cousin. He meet you.”
“I won’t do it!”
“I blow up balloon.”
“Then you lose all your drugs! You can’t kill me or you lose everything!”
“We claim body, cut out balloons, start over. No problem. You mule now, you go to Shinagawa.”
“This is a nightmare! What did I ever do to you?”
“Just business. You go now. Take shitting medicine on train, give balloons to cousin, you done. Or die. You choose.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll do it.”
“Good for you, Rester! Be over soon,” and his roommate hung up.
Lester tested his knee going upstairs which was less painful. He hobbled up the stairwell, finally reaching street level. He was covered with dirt stains, limping, his face still swollen and now red from crying. He found he still had his credit card so went to the ticket office and pointed to Shinagawa, the terminus of the line. Because of his disheveled state, the ticket agent alerted the police. Two neatly dressed officers arrived, and spoke to Lester in near perfect English.
“Do you need any help? Have you been injured?”
Lester explained that he fell earlier, but was okay. Except that he was very constipated. One of the officers helped him buy some laxative and took him to his stop. Lester thanked him and reassured him that he would be fine. Lester took the entire package of laxative as soon as the officer was out of sight.
Looking out the window, his bowels cramping and gurgling, he wondered if passing the heroin balloons would be painful, or if they might rupture. He was in a cold sweat all the way to Shinagawa.
&&&
Back at the apartment, Lester’s roommate addressed the woman and the obese man.
“Okay, pay up. His phone GPS shows he’s on his way.”
“Where did you get that heroin?” asked the man.
“There’s no heroin, dumbass. My cousin gave him date rape drug; we beat him up a little and left him in the parking garage. Rester too stupid to find his way to station.”
“So who’s meeting him at the station?” the woman asked.
“I don’t know, the bathroom attendant? Now quit stalling, the bet was to get him to go to Shinagawa.”
“When’s the next English teacher coming?” asked the woman.
“The end of the month. Why?” asked Lester’s roommate.
“Double or nothing.” she said.